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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796022">Awl and Resin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka'>Nyanoka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: FireRed &amp; LeafGreen | Pokemon FireRed &amp; LeafGreen Versions, Pocket Monsters: Red &amp; Green &amp; Blue &amp; Yellow | Pokemon Red Green Blue Yellow Versions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Awkward First Times, Begging, Blow Jobs, Canon ages, Dubious Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Riding, Size Difference</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:00:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p>
<p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ookido Green | Blue Oak/Rocket-dan no Shitappa | Team Rocket Grunt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Pine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was playing my copy of Leafgreen again, and I was like...it would be cute if Green got a crush on a Team Rocket Grunt, and it's just really awkward, and in true style for me, I made it kind of fucked up with the sex part instead of moderately cute.</p>
<p>I also gave the Rocket Grunt a name because otherwise, he'd be "Team Rocket Grunt" for the entire story. I like the name Silas (and he isn't an admin, so no rocket-themed names), and it fits. Decided to do a "snapshots" style story rather than a long one as well like I normally do. Went with Green as the name instead of Blue since that's what I'm used to. This is set in-between FRLG and HGSS as well considering Green's age.</p>
<p>We're also running on the currency of the game (and how it's comparable to Yen) hence why the numbers are as they are.</p>
<p>All chapters are done and will be posted on a schedule of one or two chapters per week.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A small, calloused hand awkwardly slides up Silas’s knee, and he quickly but gently bats it away, bed creaking as he does so.</p>
<p>Silas isn’t particularly keen on his current predicament, but he couldn’t quite stop it.</p>
<p>Not when Green pays his bills—apartment rent, groceries, and all. He even gets gifts, expensive ones at that. An assortment of game consoles and discs, flowers for the living room vase, and even customized chocolate, the fancy, imported ones from some famous confectioner in Kalos.</p>
<p>They’re a bit of a childish, if memorable, assortment of gifts—no alcohol and no clothes, socks and suits like his parents would have gotten him—and more of what a twelve-year-old would consider romantic, but he hadn’t denied them. Why would he?</p>
<p>They were gifts, and he had simply thought that Green wanted a place to keep his consoles and sweets. He knows how parents are about excessive spending and space, and he remembers being younger and using the excuse of “gifts” to store his shit at his old best friend’s house. The only trade-off had been sharing everything.</p>
<p>He hadn’t even assumed that they had been romantic gestures until recently. Granted, he also hadn’t thought much on how Green’s tone had changed during those moments, cockiness more apparent, exaggerated, and accompanied by a flush of what he had then assumed to be anger, embarrassment, or even a simple chill. Green’s certainly abrasive enough in their day-to-day interactions that he hadn’t assumed more.</p>
<p>A bit stupid and dull-witted of him perhaps, but he’s never been the sharpest person in the room. He still remembers the insults that Proton had hurled at him for dropping a box of counterfeit Luxury Balls down the stairs.</p>
<p>“Tripping over air” as he called it.</p>
<p>Though, it’s not that he wants a twelve-year-old to pay his bills, but he doesn’t really have any other options. He couldn’t exactly put Team Rocket as a reference on his resumé, and he doesn’t have a fancy degree or any other skills of note either. Hell, he had dropped out halfway through his first semester at Pewter University—a straight row of D’s and a lack of interest in higher education.</p>
<p>Again, he hadn’t been the smartest person in the room, but no one who joins Team Rocket as a bottom-of-the-barrel grunt is. The pay hadn’t even been that great, more about the promises of a raise alongside a promotion and the thrill of crime rather than any actual, legal work experience.</p>
<p>It’s not that he <em>doesn’t</em> have a job—he isn’t a complete layabout—but the Poké Mart doesn’t pay all too much for a shelf stocker, and rent in Pewter City is rather high, a consequence of the Gym and the Pewter City Museum. Not to mention his own necessities and food for his Pokémon.</p>
<p>Thus, he had taken Green’s money without much thought. It isn’t like Green could do anything worse to him. Sue him for not paying back debts? It’s not in writing, and he only has about seventy thousand dollars to his name. Enough for a few weeks of groceries and a month or two of rent but not much else.</p>
<p>He wouldn’t get much out of that—nothing besides a few dollars after the legal fees and the clothes on his back, all bought off a clearance rack or gifted from a shitty Secret Santa at work.</p>
<p>And furthermore, it isn’t like he had sought Green out. No, that would have been immensely creepy on his part. Instead, Green had simply shown up one day, knocked on his door, and then settled onto his worn-out couch when he had opened the door, small body slipping pass him and underneath his outstretched arm without so much as a <em>hello</em>.</p>
<p>Only another snide remark before his own Rattata, a lazy, round ball of purple fur, had crawled out from underneath the couch and jumped up to settle on Green’s lap for a few pats.</p>
<p>Little, traitorous bastard.</p>
<p>Though he couldn't really blame him or the rest of his Pokémon for their fondness of Green. Green, despite his typical brashness, is rather good at understanding their needs, and he does pay the rent along with everything else. He even brings them treats and toys from time to time.</p>
<p>Hell, he's rather fond of the kid too when Green isn't trying to fondle him.</p>
<p>Nonetheless, perhaps he should have simply kicked him out then or even cut ties before then. Perhaps he should have been ruder and meaner as his previous profession demanded.</p>
<p>But he hadn’t, and now he has a petulant, pouting—Green would prefer the term scowling—child sitting on his bed and a small hand once again on his knee, resting rather than sliding upward as it had before but still overly warm and clammy despite the layer of denim between his palm and the skin of his knee.</p>
<p>It’s not exactly a predicament he wants, but it isn’t avoidable, especially as they are now.</p>
<p>They know each other too well for that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cherry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p>
<p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Pushing this chapter out since it's pretty short. Honestly, I'll probably do one chapter per week for the long ones and two per week for the shorter ones.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their first meeting hadn’t been anything particularly spectacular, a lopsided Pokémon battle with him as the loser in Mt. Moon. He hadn’t really expected much from Green at first—he had been ten after all and a bit short for his age—not until his first Pokémon, a tiny, if zealous, Zubat, had been easily knocked out with an Ember and with the rest of his Pokémon following suit.</p>
<p>Really, the most interesting thing about the battle outside of its embarrassingly short length had been when his Oddish had landed a lucky Poison Powder on Charmander, lizard soon coughing before another Ember had painfully sent his little companion into unconsciousness.</p>
<p>Well, no. That isn’t entirely correct. He had done something a bit more afterwards, more out of pragmatism than any true good will. He doesn’t particularly want to be robbed of the rest of his money, all four hundred dollars of it, or set on fire. He knows how little kids can be, always eager to play hero and a bit callous when it comes to perceived villains.</p>
<p>And well…he couldn’t quite help the bit of pity he had felt for the kid. Despite the obvious arrogance and swagger, he remembers how worried Green had looked. Poké Balls, despite all of their novelties, aren’t particularly good at stopping the effects of poison, and by the relative newness of his clothes, Green hadn’t been a Trainer for long, still unused to these sorts of things. No matter how much a kid studies, he wouldn't be prepared for the real thing—the slight whimpers, the pained gasps, and so forth.</p>
<p>He remembers being ten and rushing to the Pokémon Center to heal his friends, teary-eyed and knees scraped up and bandaged. That hadn't been pleasant, another memory that had shoved to the back of his mind until then.</p>
<p>Thus, it had been both pragmaticism and pity that had drove his actions.</p>
<p>As a result, Silas, alongside the prize money, had handed him an Antidote and a Potion.</p>
<p>Or he had attempted to anyway. Green had only eyed them warily, money taken and healing items left behind, as his Charmander glared at him, occasionally coughing as its eyes water.</p>
<p>In hindsight, it would have been better to simply return them to his bag.</p>
<p>But he hadn’t done that. Instead, he had moved to pull off his glove, careful as to avoid any sudden movements that would suggest harm, popped the top off the Antidote, and briefly sprayed a small, quick spritz onto his bare palm before doing the same with the Potion. Afterwards, he had turned his palm, pale skin bare of any welts, burns, and oddities.</p>
<p>After a few moments of silence, he had felt a weight lift off his palm, items gingerly taken—Antidote then immediately sprayed onto a relieved and panting Charmander and then followed by the Potion.</p>
<p>When Green had finished, affair rather quiet considering his earlier cockiness, and shoved the empty canisters into his bag, Silas had expected him to leave then—they’re close to the exit after all—but he hadn’t, not immediately anyhow.</p>
<p>Instead, there had been an awkward shuffle followed by a simple <em>Thank you, Mr. Rocket</em> before he had left, Charmander happily waddling behind him and freed from poison. It, his reply, makes him sound young. He <em>is</em> young, but the precociousness nature of it only accentuates everything. Really,<em> Mr. Rocket</em>? It's cute, too cute and childish. If Proton were here—Silas is glad that he isn't considering his boss's more sadistic tendencies—he'd certainly mock it.</p>
<p>Though naturally, Silas hadn’t stopped him from leaving. How would he? He hadn’t had any more Pokémon. Instead, he had merely watched him leave, small figure soon disappearing into another corridor.</p>
<p>There hadn’t been much to afterwards except wait for the inevitable reprimand from Proton.</p>
<p>Well, not until another prodigy ten-year-old had shown up, boy followed by an Ivysaur rather than a Charmander and spiky brown hair adorned with a faded red cap.</p>
<p>He still doesn’t understand the recent influx of prodigy children.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>While Green's a big jerk in the games and fanon and all that, he's also roughly ten when the Kanto games happen. He may be a prodigy, but I also think his age would play a part in how he interacts with things. Otherwise, he's just an adult in a little boy's body, you know?</p>
<p>But still, I also don't give Red (or any of the other Pokemon protagonists really) their "most popular" starter choice since it helps to separate them from their canon counterparts. Bulbasaur for Red, Chikorita for Ethan, and so forth. Though Remake Red honestly has my favorite design for him...I hate how they did his colors in Masters though...too dull...I'm working on my next fic as well right now (Piers/Victor since that's my thing). It's goofy tbh...not dark and serious like I usually do.</p>
<p>I wanna write Red/Chase too tbh...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Mahogany</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p>
<p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was gonna post this Monday, but I ended up in some trouble (no injuries or anything just a lot of distress and guilt), so I guess it goes up today.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He doesn’t expect to see Green again after that affair—Kanto is a big region after all—and he doesn’t. He only hears about some aptly named “spiky-haired brat” from his colleagues in Cerulean City. Apparently, the Nugget Bridge operation hadn’t been all too good of an idea, Trainers either too weak to make it through all five trials or too strong to intimidate into joining.</p>
<p>Still, he doesn’t expect to encounter Green and like every expectation of this nature, it proves to be false.</p>
<p>Though, they don’t meet during another of his operations this time or even simply on the road, paths crossing as Trainers’ often are.</p>
<p>Instead, they meet in the second-most or perhaps third-most embarrassing way possible a few weeks later.</p>
<p>They meet in a nice little diner, Mary’s Dine-in on 3<sup>rd</sup> Street and near Celadon Game Corner.</p>
<p>Naturally, he’s in his civilian clothes, pink hair covered by a worn baseball cap—an old hat he had filched from his college dormmate, now some fancy businessman in Saffron—and body barely protected by a thinning jacket, back emblazoned with an image of a scowling Electabuzz, black turtleneck, and jeans, dark blue denim ripped at the knees. Completing the assemble is a pair of worn lace-up sneakers.</p>
<p>It’s a bit young for him—he’s thirty and a bit too old for the punk-goth look—but he doesn’t have all too many options, not with the salary that Team Rocket provides and his recent streak of losses.</p>
<p>Really, where were all those prodigy children coming from? He remembers being ten and complete dogshit at battling, too scared to command his Pokémon and too addlebrained for complex strategies.</p>
<p>Nothing outside of tackling and pecking.</p>
<p>Both his Rattata and Fearow—then a Spearow—could attest to that. They’ve been with him the longest, and thus, through the most losses.</p>
<p>Nonetheless, that hadn’t been the most embarrassing part. The most embarrassing part had been when he had opened his wallet, lips soon pursing to stifle a curse.</p>
<p>There’s a reason why most Team Rocket members don’t carry a full team of six—the salary is shit for one, and the second is that it gets expensive to care for them—and with his recent losses, he doesn’t have enough to pay for both his meal and for his Pokémon’s.</p>
<p>Silas doesn’t really want to do a dine-and-dash—Mary’s is one of the few diners in Celadon that he can barely afford and whose food doesn’t taste like microwaved crap, a consequence of the location’s attempts to appeal to both the poor and rich—but he also knows that the owner is a hardass, one who doesn’t accept late payments or IOUs.</p>
<p>He almost whistles then, a call for his Pokémon to flee for the door, but before he can, a wad of bills is thrust onto the table and a hand pulls out the other chair, wooden legs squealing on the white tiles and a familiar face soon settling across from him.</p>
<p>Despite his stunned expression, Green doesn’t explain himself. He only waves his hand, a call for the waiter, before ordering a few of the most expensive dishes on the menu, beef steak, medium rare and sauteed with onions, a dozen fresh, half-shelled oysters, and two platters of soft-shelled crabs. To top it off, he orders some fancy, imported soda from Unova. Alongside his own dishes, he orders a few plates of assorted berries for his own Pokémon.</p>
<p>It, the flippant wave and dismissal, is a bit snobby in his opinion, reminiscent of the rich fucks he sometimes sees around the Game Corner whenever he’s on shift—guests always calling for new drinks and cursing whenever they lose at cards or slots. In those moments, he’s rather glad that he’s normally stationed as a card dealer instead of as a waiter.</p>
<p>He’s too much of a “clumsy fuck” to be a waiter as Proton puts it. He’s much better at shuffling and card counting. He even knows a few tricks—dovetail to Mongean to Gilbreath and a few others.</p>
<p>Even when the waiter leaves, Green doesn’t explain himself. He only releases his Pokemon—a Charmeleon, a Pidgeotto, and a Rattata equally purple as his own but much fitter, less lazy-looking too.</p>
<p>Silas doesn’t quite know what to expect—how would you talk to a ten-year-old you lost to during a criminal operation?—but thankfully, Green speaks before he can embarrass himself.</p>
<p>“What’s that? You didn’t use it during our battle.” No greetings or anything of that sort, Green only makes a pointed look toward one of his Pokémon. “The species, I mean,” he clarifies at Silas’s expression.</p>
<p>“A Houndour,” he replies. He doesn’t really see the point in not answering, not with the money on the table and the crowded nature of the place. If worse comes to worst, he could always leave Green with the combined bill. “Got her from my cousin in Johto who wanted a Vulpix.” He clicks his tongue lightly, noise causing his Houndour to jump onto his lap. Patting her head lightly, Silas continues, “She was sick, so I left her at home.” He doesn’t mention that his home is a tiny little room underneath the Game Corner. Team Rocket, despite all of its faults, offers free room and board.</p>
<p>Green nods at that before quieting once more, legs swinging underneath the table and feet barely reaching the floor. It’s a bit unlike him he thinks. It’s not like they know each other all too well—their last meeting was only roughly fifteen minutes if one included both the battle and the aftermath—but he also remembers Green as a much louder and much more boastful brat.</p>
<p>Granted, he also had the skills to back up his taunts.</p>
<p>It’s awkward, so very awkward, and perhaps he should leave then—with Green there, it would be much easier to foist the bill onto someone, as embarrassing as it is anyway—and he almost does, legs tensing up to stand, before Green speaks again, a question this time.</p>
<p>“Why’d you help me?” he asks, frowning. “You’re a Rocket, right?” Silas pays no mind to the glances from the other table, eyes soon returning to their own meals after a few moments. It’s an open secret after all. Most residents of Celadon are aware of them even if they usually aren’t acknowledged.</p>
<p>After a few moments, Silas replies, a bit awkward. He hadn’t really expected to meet Green again after all let alone explain his actions.</p>
<p>“I felt bad,” Silas says. Idly, he notes how Green’s Charmeleon glares at his Pikachu, a scruffy, skinny thing that he had found chewing through the wires of a slot machine one afternoon a few months ago and that he had quickly shoved into a spare Poké Ball without much trouble. He doesn’t really understand Charmeleon’s distaste, but he’s not going to question it. It’s already awkward enough. “You looked kinda new to everything, and well…”</p>
<p>Silas doesn’t continue, not when Green’s expression darkens, frown deepening and more cute than threatening. He isn’t old enough to look threatening, cheeks still too soft because of youth, dusted with a light pink flush, and brown eyes round and framed by long lashes.</p>
<p>“But you didn’t have to,” Green says. Silas almost wishes that the waiter would return soon, but he doubts that he would. As large as Green’s order is, he wouldn’t be back for a while. “The Pokémon Center’s just a half-hour from Mt. Moon, and I had a few Antidotes and Potions in my bag.”</p>
<p>“And I had a few Hyper Potions in mine. A few Full Heals too,” Silas replies. It’s a complete lie of course. He’s too poor to afford those and unlucky enough to never find any of them on the floor, carelessly dropped by some other Trainer. “I didn’t need them.”</p>
<p>“Then why didn’t you use them during our battle?” Green asks, eyes peering at him. “It’s not against the rules to use items, and your Zubat was already hurt when our battle started.”</p>
<p>Silas flinches at that. He doesn’t really have a good response for that, but thankfully, the waiter returns, not with Green’s order but with a complimentary bread basket, red wire frame piled with pillowy bread loaves, smell wafting upward and causing Silas’s stomach to rumble.</p>
<p>He’s still hungry, but he doesn’t mention it, and Green doesn’t ask. He only reaches for a loaf, fingers tearing it in half and soon tossing the halves to his Pidgeotto and Rattata before tossing a whole loaf to his Charmeleon.</p>
<p>When Green’s fingers tear the third loaf in half, he, much to Silas’s surprise, offers it, hand outstretched over the table.</p>
<p>“It’s for earlier—for the items,” Green explains. “Gramps says I should always replay people back when they help me.” Another frown comes then. “I didn’t order everything for myself—I can’t finish it all—and you’re hungry, right? You don’t have a lot of options—you were out of money—so just take it.”</p>
<p>It’s a bit callous—Green doesn’t spare his pride at all, and the meal is worth much more than the Antidote and Potion—but Silas nods, taking his offering after a few moments of silence.</p>
<p>He has always liked the bread loaves from Mary’s, and this one is no different, halve quickly consumed. When he finishes, Green pushes the basket toward him, his own halve finished as well. Silas doesn’t comment on it. He only takes another piece, edge soon dipped into the provided butter and eagerly bitten into.</p>
<p>“So…” Green trails off, shaking his head lightly. “Why’d you join Team Rocket?”</p>
<p>“Bit of a personal question, isn’t it?” Silas says as he swallows. “We don’t really know each other.”</p>
<p>Green doesn’t reply. He only continues to stare at him, gaze curious. Underneath the table, Silas feels a warm, furry lump bump against his ankle—his Rattata most likely. Fat freeloader probably wanted more scraps.</p>
<p>“I didn’t like where I was in life,” Silas finally says. He doesn’t think Green’s staring would stop until he got an answer, and it’s a vague enough answer in his opinion, akin to the responses he gave to his parents whenever they asked about what he wanted to pursue in the future. He still doesn’t quite have an answer to that. “And they seemed like a good option at the time.”</p>
<p>“Was it a good option?” There’s a genuine curiosity to Green’s tone.</p>
<p>Silas doesn’t reply and thankfully, he doesn’t have to, not when the waiter arrives with Green’s order. As expected, it’s large, requiring a few return trips for him to bring everything out.</p>
<p>“I can afford it,” Green says at Silas’s expression, incredulousness mixed with both worry and a bit of hunger. “I get a lot of prize money, and we”—he leans over, patting Pidgeotto on its head—“just won at Erika’s. It’s their treat.”</p>
<p>Green makes a motion to the waiter, and the waiter sets the steak in front of Silas.</p>
<p>“I like seafood more,” Green explains, oysters soon set in front of him alongside everything else. The waiter almost leaves before Green waves at him again.</p>
<p>He turns to Silas. “You can order a drink if you want. I’m not old enough to order alcohol.”</p>
<p>Perhaps he should decline—a grown man having his meal paid for by a boy two decades younger is embarrassing no matter how one looks at it—but he doesn’t really have any shame.</p>
<p>He isn’t fifteen and overly insecure anymore, and no one who joins Team Rocket with pastel pink hair really gives a shit about what other people think.</p>
<p>Thus, he order a Harvest Moon cocktail. It’s a bit fruity and a bit girly—that’s what his colleagues think anyway—but he has been eying it for a while. It certainly isn’t the most expensive drink on the menu, but it’s tasty, a favorite of his, and that is what matters.</p>
<p>Though, Green doesn’t object it. He doesn’t even flinch at the mounting price of their meal.</p>
<p>He only orders another plate of berries, steamed this time and for to-go.</p>
<p>“My Abra doesn’t like crowded spaces,” Green explains. “It’s too noisy for him.”</p>
<p>Silas nods at that, small <em>oh</em> leaving his lips. He hadn’t asked, but at the very least, Green’s chatter, words flitting from subject to subject with little pause, saves him the trouble of speaking.</p>
<p>It isn’t that he’s mute, but he’s never had much to say—nothing outside of “yes, sir” to his superiors and some raunchy jokes and jibes with and toward his fellow grunts.</p>
<p>Those aren’t exactly appropriate for the present occasion or for the present company.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, Green speaks enough for the both of them. Though, his questions can be a bit trivial, annoying even, but he doesn’t really expect anything else. Silas only nods along to his chatter, occasionally replying.</p>
<p>No matter his skill or his financial status, Green is still a child—ten and obnoxious, repetitive, as any other ten-year-old could be.</p>
<p>“Why is your hair pink?” Green asks, curious. It’s not particularly tact, but at the very least, it’s not another question about his personal life or job.</p>
<p>Dropping a bit of meat onto the floor—greedy bastard that he is, Rattata immediately devours it without so much as a thank-you, tiny little paws soon pressing against his ankle once more in a plea for more—Silas replies, deadpan, “Because it is.”</p>
<p>“But why?”</p>
<p>“Because it is,” he repeats. It’s not a particularly satisfactory answer, and Green frowns again, mouth opening to repeat his question.</p>
<p>Though, Silas interrupts him before he can, “I like the color, and it goes with my eyes. Don’t you think?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t quite understand the reason for why Green feels the need to lean over the table—he can feel the stares from the other patrons and hear their, rather loud in his opinion, whispers—or the reason for the intensity of his stare.</p>
<p>He does think the pink goes well with his eye color, but he doesn’t think that they’re that interesting. They’re a light hazel brown, and brown is arguably the most common eye color in the world.</p>
<p>Before he can comment, however, Green leans back in his chair, nodding at some unsaid observation of his and chatter soon resuming—topics ranging from Celadon and its attractions to the Routes nearby and even to the Game Corner.</p>
<p>Much to Green’s disappointment, he doesn’t get a discount on the Game Corner’s prizes, Porygon still expensive as ever, and he doesn’t actually know much about his own Pokémon’s evolutions.</p>
<p>He definitely knows about Pikachu’s—he gets enough advertisements from the department store about Thunder Stones—and about Vileplume but not about Oddish’s second evolution, Bellossom. He’s not even sure if the little plant wants to evolve into a Gloom into the first place. Like all his other Pokémon, she is rather lazy, always wanting to be carried around or pampered.</p>
<p>Becoming a Gloom would hamper that—too heavy—and it isn’t like he could afford the items in the first place.</p>
<p>Perhaps it’s cheap for Green, but for most Trainers, a single stone would be a sizable dent in their budget.</p>
<p>Though, he isn’t a complete idiot when it comes to Pokémon. He notes how Green perks up when he mentions the Safari Zone, its population of rare Pokémon, Exeggcute and Dratini in particular, and the methods to attract them.</p>
<p>Granted, he doesn’t mention the reason for why he knows about them. He doesn’t think Green—or most people really—would react well to the idea of Pokémon smuggling and black-market trading.</p>
<p>Nonetheless, the meal progresses well enough—no cops or fellow colleagues interrupting, nothing except a ten-year-old’s chatter and the occasional interruption from himself. Green even leaves a sizable tip on the table, another stack of bills, when they finish, leftovers soon piled into to-go boxes and boxes soon placed into plastic bags.</p>
<p>He doesn’t expect much else after they recall their Pokémon—he’s just happy enough for the leftovers and the completely paid for meal—but Green interrupts him before he can leave, hand tugging on his sleeve.</p>
<p>“What’s your number?” he asks.</p>
<p>It’s weird, a bit upfront too considering his profession and the reason for their meetings, but Silas doesn’t think much of it. Children aren’t exactly the most cautious of people.</p>
<p>He only shakes his head. “I don’t have a permanent number.” He doesn’t. Most Team Rocket members carry burner phones. “And you don’t even know my name.”</p>
<p>At the time, he hadn’t known Green’s name either—nothing outside of “spiky-haired brat”—but apparently that hadn’t bothered Green at all.</p>
<p>Instead, Green merely sets down his bag on the table and pulls out a notepad and pen from his backpack. Quickly flipping to a blank sheet of paper, he scribbles down his number before tearing it out and extending it toward Silas.</p>
<p>“My name is Green,” he says, expectant. “What’s yours?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. He only shoves the piece of paper into Silas’s hand. “You can call me whenever you have time. Dunno if I’ll always be able to answer though.”</p>
<p>Rude kid, but he couldn’t really complain, not when Green had paid for his meal in full and saved him the trouble of a dine-and-dash.</p>
<p>After a few moments—he doesn’t think Green would leave without a response, and the patrons are already staring more than he would like—he replies with his own name, a one-worded response, to which Green nods, lips mouthing the syllables.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Green doesn’t bother him any further. Rather, he only picks up his bag, pen and notepad having been slipped back into his backpack, and heads for the door, wind chimes ringing with his exit.</p>
<p>What a rude kid, but at the very least, he had gotten a free meal and free leftovers with it.</p>
<p>Shoving the slip of paper into his back pocket, Silas makes his way for the door.</p>
<p>He hadn’t planned to call Green, but much like his expectations about their meetings, it doesn’t quite play out like he had expected.</p>
<p>How stupid of him, tempting fate like that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As an unrelated note, that Electabuzz jacket is actually a loose reference to the Johto Electabuzzes from the anime. I like to think Silas is a near-deadbeat and tbh, I wanted Green to have a trophy husband to tote around.</p>
<p>I also like to think that Green took a different route and Gym order for his adventures compared to Red. Origins did show that Gym Leaders use different Pokemon based on a challenger's skill level, and it's implied in the games through the Unova post-game tournaments and in the Gym Leader rematches with how the Pokemon change.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Red Maple</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p><p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I ended up Ex-ing Blue and SS Blue on my Master's account the other week...they're super useful tbh, but now I gotta scrounge for tickets for Piers...maybe whale a bit, so I can EX him on banner day...</p><p>I also ended up pre-ordering Piers's figure alongside Victor's Challenger Uniform figure (and the regular one). Kinda antsy about buying from Ebay for the former (and regular Victor's figure), but I've bought from them before (Piers plush) so should be fine, and the latter is Meccha-Japan, so should be fine too. Even got their last one. I'm thinking about picking up Blue's figures and plush alongside Red's and Ethan's, but I gotta save for Piers's rubber strap next month...still looking for his stickers too...</p><p>Stop coming out with more Piers's merchandise, please Nintendo...my wallet...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He doesn’t call Green the next day, the next week, or even the week after.</p><p>He hadn’t planned to after all nor does he have the time to. He’s too busy to. With the recent string of failed operations—almost always the work of some brown-haired brat with a Venusaur—he doesn’t have time for idle chitchat.</p><p>Not unless he wants Proton on his ass and an extra few shifts of manual labor or perhaps even a work-mandated transfer to Four Island and the Icefall Cave base.</p><p>He doesn’t particularly care for that. As shitty as his room underneath the Game Corner is, he could, at the very least, go shopping without his fingers freezing off. Even with Houndour and her flames, he doesn’t think he could last all too long there.</p><p>Really, the only reason he even remembers the slip of paper is because of an accident, hand having slipped into his back pocket to grab at his phone, flashlight needed, and fingers grazing against the sheet.</p><p>It isn’t an especially special occasion either, a routine shift on his latest mission—an excavation of the deeper areas of Rock Tunnel in pursuit of more fossils and perhaps a few gold nuggets and colored shards, both popular items with jewelers and collectors alike. Rather, it’s boring, overly so, and tiresome. He’s fairly certain that he’s pulled a few muscles.</p><p>He doesn’t understand the reason for why he had been assigned to the mission either. None of his Pokémon know Rock Smash nor are they, excluding Zubat, particularly suited for the location. But still, it’s Proton, sadistic nature and all. Bastard probably got off on their suffering.</p><p>Nonetheless, outside of the occasional lucky find—he’s rather happy about finding a Root Fossil, find guaranteeing a small bonus on his next paycheck—there isn’t much to do.</p><p>Work, sleep, and eat—thirty minutes each for lunch and dinner breaks unless they wanted another tongue-lashing from Proton—with the occasional day off. That is the routine.</p><p>Goddamn bastard.</p><p>He doesn’t care for Proton all too much, but most people serving underneath him don’t—too much of an asshole, eager for another promotion and a raise. As the newest Executive, Proton would be vying for more attention and favor from their boss.</p><p>Nonetheless, it’s boring and nearly pointless—absolute drudgery akin to the papers he had to write for university if one ignored the physical exertion. Outside of that one Root Fossil and a Blue Shard, he doesn’t have much luck with mining either, and there’s almost nothing to talk about with his colleagues.</p><p>Nothing outside of the same damn jokes and the same damn complaints.</p><p>No one who joins Team Rocket as a grunt is witty after all.</p><p>Thus, he, during one of his rare breaks and in a secluded spot away from prying ears, finds himself dialing Green’s number. He doesn’t really expect an answer—it’s an unknown caller after all, and he doubts Green actually remembers giving him his phone number—and as expected, he hears the dial tone ring.</p><p>Once, twice, thrice. He almost hangs up until he hears a click, voice soon coming from the speaker.</p><p>“Hello?” It’s a bit staticky, a consequence of both his location and the shoddy service, but at the very least, Green answers.</p><p>Another <em>hello</em> comes, a bit impatient now before Silas replies, returning the greeting.</p><p>It’s embarrassing—he’s never been good at conversations either, another of his failings—and but he hears a noticeable change in Green’s voice, annoyance almost entirely dissipating and soon replaced by a familiar cockiness.</p><p>Though, Green, despite his regular chattiness, doesn’t continue, breath audible alongside the static. He only waits.</p><p>Silas had called first after all, and as customs dictates, he speaks first, broaching the subject of conversation.</p><p>“I…” Shit, it’s awkward. He doesn’t really know what to say, and it isn’t like he could tell Green about his current business. Proton would have his head on a platter if he were to find out, and it isn’t like he wants to talk about manual labor.</p><p>He gets enough of that with his colleagues.</p><p>“I…uh…I wanted to congratulate you on your victory over Erika and to thank you for the food.”</p><p>“That was weeks ago.” Despite the static, Silas could hear the incredulousness in his voice.</p><p>“Yeah, but I forgot, and it doesn’t seem right to not tell you. Erika’s a tough cookie. When I went to her Gym when I was younger, I couldn’t even get pass her second Trainer. That Victreebel knocked my Fearow straight out of the sky.” It’s complete bullshit—he had called out of boredom—but at the very least, Green doesn’t interrupt.</p><p>Well, almost complete bullshit anyway. He had gone to Erika’s when he was younger, and he had lost terribly. Hadn’t even made it to her. Hell, he remembers leaving with his Rattata cradled in his arms and with a runny nose and teary eyes, allergies and bitterness intermingling.</p><p>He’s never quite been good at anything, neither the best or even second-best, only middling—average or slightly below average.</p><p>Shaking his head, Silas continues, “I also wanted to check up on you. See how you’re doing. You were interested in the Safari Zone’s Pokémon, right? Make it to Fuchsia yet?”</p><p>That draws an excited response from Green, previous incredulousness and bravado forgotten in favor of his chatter, rambling and excited just to talk. Even with the static, Green’s voice is loud, cheery as a kid’s could be.</p><p>Really, it’s almost like he has no one to talk about it to.</p><p>Nevertheless, Silas doesn’t comment on it. He only listens, interjecting every once in a while in a bid to encourage Green to continue.</p><p>If he were to be honest, he’s rather jealous as well, as pitiful as that is.</p><p>Green, in his short time, has already collected half of Kanto’s badges, badge case only missing Cinnabar’s, Saffron’s, Vermillion’s, and Viridian’s. It’s a bit of a haphazard path—most people collect Lt. Surge’s badge before Erika’s and Koga’s—but that’s part of the appeal of traveling he thinks.</p><p>The aimless certainty—slow, paradoxical, yet meaningful all the same.</p><p>That was what his father had told him anyway. Everyone would end up where they needed to be in the end.</p><p>It’s a bit optimistic in Silas’s opinion, but it’s not like he has any evidence to refute him, and it isn’t even like he still talks to them.</p><p>They hadn’t parted on agreeable terms. Hell, he remembers screaming at that and they in return.</p><p><em>Running away again, Silas?</em> his mother had said, father standing beside her and scowling, veins visible on his forehead. <em>You never finish anything. Always looking for an easy way out.</em></p><p>More soft-spoken than his father but no less harsh. They haven’t talked in years, over a decade even.</p><p>Not that he minds. He doesn’t care about them, and they don’t care for him in return.</p><p>Another bit of static resounds from the phone—cheapass piece of plastic—and Silas winces, pulling it away from his ear.</p><p>“…and then I caught a few Exeggcute, five Dratini—one was pink!—and a Scyther too! I even saw a Chansey!” Silas can hear the frown in his voice, ensuing disappointment obvious. “It ran away before I could catch it though. Even threw some bait at it.”</p><p>“Mm-hmm.” Silas nods at that, more habit than anything else. Green couldn’t see him after all. “Try lobbing a rock at the next one you see and then the Safari Ball. They’re flighty bitc—things, so bait doesn’t really do it with them. You have to be quick with it.”</p><p>That’s what he’s learned from the occasions when he’s sent on poaching duty anyhow. Lob the rocks immediately and catch as many of the dazed laggers as possible, preferably with one Ball if possible. Granted, Proton, true to his impatient nature, and Team Rocket itself don’t quite value quality when it comes to poaching, quantity often valued over quality in most cases.</p><p>The average layman doesn’t quite understand Kanto’s native species after all, and most of their sales are done overseas or to some rich lout more keen on a showpiece than a healthy specimen.</p><p>“I’ll try that tomorrow,” Green says after another burst of static. “Thanks.” A pause comes, and Silas almost assumes that the call has ended until Green’s voice comes again. “Though, how are you doing over there? The signal’s pretty bad.”</p><p>There’s both a curiousness and awkwardness to his voice, words stilted as if he weren’t used to asking about others. Silas doesn’t pay it much mind, however.</p><p>The signal is pretty shit after all. That isn't an insult, merely fact.</p><p>“Fine. I’m busy with work. I’m actually calling you on my break right now.” Green, thankfully, doesn’t ask about <em>what</em> that work entails. “Pay’s still pretty bad too.”</p><p>An <em>oh</em> comes from the speaker, airiness interspersed with static. “Why don’t you quit then?”</p><p>“Because it’s my job,” Silas replies. He doesn’t particularly mind the obviousness of it. He remembers what it’s like being ten with no filter. After a moment of pause, he adds, “Don’t have any other offers either.”</p><p>He knows what Green’s next question would have been without that—a simple <em>why </em>followed another question or two. Better to nip it now then minutes later.</p><p>He only has so many minutes on his phone after all.</p><p>Another burst of static comes, and he almost expects Green to say goodbye then—his chattiness seems to have run out, and his break is almost over—but it doesn’t.</p><p>Instead, there’s a quietness to his voice, awkward and rather unlike the cockiness that he has come to expect.</p><p>“Thanks for calling me,” Green says. “I didn’t think you would.” Another pause and another bout of static. “Gramps doesn’t really have time for me anymore—he’s really busy with the Pokédex project right now because he’s planning to integrate Hoenn’s species into our database soon—and Red...he’s always really quiet, and he’s my rival, you know? A really strong one too. I can’t be too nice to him, or he’ll think I’m goin’ soft.”</p><p>A small sigh comes then, wispy and soft and almost drowned out by the static.</p><p>“It’s just nice to talk to someone and have them listen, you know?” Silas hears a shuffle, something on Green’s end. “And…it’s kind of weird, but can you call me whenever you have some time? I promise I’ll try to answer. Just…thanks.”</p><p>The dial tone comes then, call having ended, and Silas frowns. It had been rather awkward—a bit depressing at the end as well—but at least, he couldn’t say it was boring.</p><p>Pressing a few more keys, six to four to six once more, Silas’s frown soon deepens.</p><p>According to his screen, he only has around seven minutes left before he would have to reload or perhaps get a new one.</p><p>He hadn’t thought that he had talked to Green for that long.</p><p>Ten or fifteen minutes perhaps, but not a full hour.</p><p>His break was only supposed to be for thirty minutes.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Proton would definitely chew him out for wasting company time.</p><p>Probably call him a lazy cunt as well. Proton has never been one to mince words or insults.</p><p>Fucking bastard.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think it's rather easy to talk to strangers sometimes when it comes to problems. They don't know you after all, so it's harder to judge, and Green is ten and lonely too, a bit eager for attention and naturally chatty. That's what I remember from childhood anyhow from personal experience.</p><p>But still, I'm also super keen on lonely little boys becoming friends with socially awkward older men since there's a lot of symbolism and foils and all that going on possibly. It's honestly one of my favorite dynamics.</p><p>It's also Femslash February, so I might do something for that...Lyra/Leaf or Cynthia/Dawn maybe?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Juniper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p>
<p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I often find myself questioning the conventions of the traditional novel honestly. You have a hero with some fatal flaw or another, and they often fail because of it. Or perhaps there is some grand event that they must overcome, and they do. It's often about the journey and the interest. It's not really about a "plotless" character study or daily life as one would experience it. That often reflects in my stories. It's about the little things.</p>
<p>Granted, I'm also a big fan of Virginia Woolf (and that's what my normal writing style reflects) and her ideas, so there's that. Nowhere near as good as her of course, but I often prefer her style of ideas.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He couldn’t say that his conversations with Green were boring—almost anything would be better than the missions he gets nowadays, all either paper-pushing and trivial or monotonous and back-breaking—but he couldn’t say they were objectively interesting either.</p>
<p>Day-to-day and week-to-week, Green’s adventures aren’t particularly exciting. It isn’t that Green <em>isn’t</em> a good storyteller—he makes up for his average vocabulary with an infectious excitement, childish and endearing in a way that only a child’s levity could be—but simply put, only so much could happen in a short period of time.</p>
<p>They don’t live in a movie or novel after all. Unlike the Saturday morning cartoons he remembers from his childhood, there isn’t an episodic nature to everything, villain appearing on cue every week for the hero to defeat and for the credits to roll after.</p>
<p>Nonetheless, he finds himself calling Green and even foregoing a few extra snacks in an effort to buy more minutes for his phone.</p>
<p>Odd perhaps, but he does enjoy their conversations, inane as they could be.</p>
<p>He doesn’t exactly have anything better to do on his breaks after all, and Green answer frequently enough, always with some tale of the day’s events, a recounting of an interesting battle, or even tidbits about his lunch or some cute little thing that his Pokémon have done.</p>
<p>Green even comments on the passing Pidgeys and the architecture of the towns he visits, old buildings towering above the smaller yet more modern shops and plazas. Perhaps it is because of his youth, but Green hasn’t tired of everything yet.</p>
<p>At the very least, it’s better than staring blankly at the wall for hours on end or chatting with his colleagues anyhow. He could only take so many of the same jokes and conversations topics.</p>
<p>It’s different, a break from his mundanity.</p>
<p>Though, there’s a small pause nowadays, almost always after a story finishes and continuing until Silas responds. Green makes sure of it, careful as to pause and to avoid overtaking the conversation.</p>
<p>It isn’t quite like him, chatty and brash and always eager to fill up silence with words and meaning, voice crackling with phone static yet fleeting, nonetheless—each word melding into one another and the world around them, bird’s chatter alongside the whispering of leaves and the dripping of cave dew.</p>
<p>But still, despite the uncharacteristic nature of it all, Green waits, always for some reply or some affirmation and always eager to continue and respond to his half-formed ideas and responses.</p>
<p>He asks, and he waits, breath softly sounding like distance thunder, drowned out by rain, through the receiver.</p>
<p>Though naturally, it makes everything a bit awkward—he isn’t good at speaking, responses awkward and either too short or too longwinded, and he hasn’t spoken to anyone outside of his colleagues and perhaps the occasional cashier in a long time—but he tries.</p>
<p>It wouldn’t be a conversation otherwise.</p>
<p>In particular, he notes the way Green responds whenever he receives a compliment, no matter how small or insignificant.</p>
<p>There’s a swell of pride, voice chipper despite his obvious attempts to appear aloof and unaffected, and a certain charm to it, tone lacking in that particular brashness that he has come to expect from Green.</p>
<p>He especially remembers Green’s happiness when he had described his victory over Sabrina—a clutch victory only possible because of his now Raticate and its Pursuit attack—and the little pause afterward when he had congratulated him, soft and interspersed with breath and static until Green’s voice interrupts, embarrassed.</p>
<p>He may not have been there, but he understands how difficult Sabrina is. He has heard enough complaints about her and her Gym Trainers from his colleagues, and he knows how tough Psychic types are. He has challenged Saffron’s Gym before and against Sabrina’s predecessor.</p>
<p>Even with his Houndour, then newly traded, he hadn’t been successful then either.</p>
<p>They, their conversations, are something to do, and Green doesn’t seem to tire of their them.</p>
<p>Rather, alongside the stories and the little tidbits about his Pokémon—he’s always rather excited whenever one of them evolves—Green complains.</p>
<p>Sometimes about the weather, sometimes about the well-meaning nagging from his sister, and sometimes about his grandfather and Red.</p>
<p>During those moments, there’s a frustration, a tinge of anger, to his voice and a particular rawness, unnerving and hurting in a child's tinny.</p>
<p>Perhaps it’s strange to tell an essential stranger—and a criminal at that—about one’s family’s problems, but he understands the appeal of anonymity and of strangers when it comes to these sorts of matters.</p>
<p>Therapy exists after all, not that he has ever been.</p>
<p>Nonetheless, he doesn’t interrupt Green whenever he begins these rants.</p>
<p>It’s something to listen to after all, and he has never been good at speaking—a bit too dull as Archer would say.</p>
<p>At the very least, Green doesn’t pry too much into his own life. He isn’t particularly comfortable speaking about his work for obvious reasons and bluntly put, his own life before isn’t especially interesting—more average than anything else.</p>
<p>He doesn’t have any spectacular stories to tell, nothing interesting to speak of. Despite his profession, all of his Pokémon are rather ordinary—Rattata befriended during his childhood with a few berries, Slowpoke caught at a well in Johto, and so forth.</p>
<p>And more pertinently, he doesn’t want to talk about his parents, both because of distaste and because of discomfort. He doesn’t want to remember them, memories dredged up alongside their frequent chiding.</p>
<p>Despite the blandness of his past, however, Green doesn’t seem to mind when he speaks, interjecting occasionally.</p>
<p>A bit odd, but he doesn’t mind that either. It’s something to do even if it drains his phone’s minutes.</p>
<p>That is how their calls go, bits of back and forth and updates about Green’s life, and about his own past, always much more objectively boring than Green’s but always listened to eagerly.</p>
<p>It’s nice in some sense of the word. It’s different.</p>
<p>He doesn’t really expect much from their conversations though, nothing drastic and extraordinarily out of the ordinary.</p>
<p>And much like with expectations about Green and their calls, he’s wrong.</p>
<p>Terribly so.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For me, I think Green would be more "familiar" as a character if he were brash and cocky and plain rude all the time. But I also feel like that would create a caricature of a boy of Green's circumstances—the "lonely" second-best as it were. Most "people" aren't like that all the time, and frankly, that's not what I want to write. It's my story after all. For me, it is the meeting of two souls and the accidental connection and consequences that matter. That's what I am interested in anyhow.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cypress</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p><p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would have posted this earlier but with last week's events, I couldn't tbh...that dates this story, but it was a rather wild week for most of the world tbh.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Silas doesn’t think much of it when Green misses a call. They’re both rather busy people after all, especially nowadays. He doesn’t think much of the second unanswered call, the third, or even the fourth. However, by the time, he reaches the tenth, dial tone shifting into the now-familiar automated voice of Green’s voicemail, he’s rather concerned.</p><p>Though, he doesn’t find a anything on the news, nothing outside of yet another report on Team Rocket, a few advertisements, and some foreign news, something about Steven Stone stepping down from his position as Champion. Even a search through the internet and social media doesn’t bring up anything outside of reports on Green’s victories and his progress as a Trainer, all public information and not quite what he wants.</p><p>At the very least, Silas can discount death or illness. Those had been the worst of his worries, and he had found nothing on that. The latest news he could find had been about a victory at Vermillion’s City’s Gym.</p><p>Really, he’s surprised that Green hadn’t answered. The calls after a Gym victory are always the one that Green shows the most excitement during.</p><p>Busyness most likely—he’s been getting more and more missions as well lately, a consequence of the recent string of failed operations—but, nonetheless, he finds himself still concerned, and thus, calls once more at some odd hour on a Tuesday night.</p><p>Even if Green doesn’t answer, he could always leave another voicemail.</p><p>The dial tone rings once, twice, and much to his surprise, he hears the click of an answered call followed by sniffling, noise interspersed with hiccups and an occasional sob.</p><p>He isn’t sure what to expect from Green, words stuttering and crying obvious. It isn’t quite like the boy he knows so far, feelings bare and shroud of cockiness discarded.</p><p>“S-sorry for n-not an-answering your”—a loud sniffle comes—“c-calls. Something h-happened. while I w-was in V-Vermillion.”</p><p>Green doesn’t elaborate, tears obvious even over the phone.</p><p>With a bit of reluctance, Silas broaches the subject. He doesn’t want to leave the conversation as it is, awkward and morose, and he doesn’t think Green would continue without a bit of prodding.</p><p>“What happened?” He pulls the phone a bit closer to his ear. He hadn’t had it on speaker, but he doesn’t want his colleagues hearing them either. The walls aren’t thin—Team Rocket isn’t that cheap surprisingly—but he doesn’t want them listening in.</p><p>They’re all nosy fucks, and gossip travels fast.</p><p>Another pause, silence interrupted by a particularly wet and snotty sniffle, before Green speaks again.</p><p>“P-promise you w-won’t y-yell at m-me?”</p><p>He doesn’t really understand Green’s concerns—he isn’t his parents after all—but Silas nods, a simply <em>I</em> <em>won’t</em> soon leaving his lips.</p><p>“O-okay.” Silas hears a creak of bed springs, Green shifting most likely. “W-well, I w-went on a cr-cruise, a-and s-something ha-happened.” A choked sob leaves him. “I-I d-didn’t know.”</p><p>Green doesn’t continue, sobs soon coming in loud waves.</p><p>He isn’t good with crying kids. He isn’t good at most social interactions really, but he doesn’t want to hear Green cry, voice squeaky and pitiful.</p><p>“Look…Green…” There’s a slight pause then at his name before the sobs continue. “Do…do you have any water near you? A glass of water or a water bottle maybe?”</p><p>“Y-yeah.” It’s a soft response, one entirely uncharacteristic of him and soon followed by another hiccup.</p><p>“Why don’t you take a sip, and we can talk it out?” Shit, it’s awkward even to his own ears. He doesn’t know how to talk to kids. “If you want. Maybe it’ll help you feel better?”</p><p>Awkward. Awkward. Entirely awkward.</p><p>But he doesn’t know what else to offer—he doesn’t really want to hear Green, or any kid really, cry—and Green had enjoyed having a listening ear before.</p><p>Thankfully, after a few moments, Silas hears the sound of a cap being undone, plastic crinkling alongside sniffles, and water being swallowed.</p><p>When the sound stops, neither Silas nor Green speak.</p><p>He’s rather glad that he had bought more minutes today on a whim. He only had about five minutes left before his purchase. Before his conversations with Green had begun, he had only bought minutes when he was truly low, one or two minutes left. Hell, sometimes he didn’t even buy minutes instead poaching them off of other grunts or stealing their phones for calls.</p><p>It isn’t like they truly mind in a sense. They do the same to him whenever they can, a little tradition among the grunts.</p><p>“I-I…” Green pauses again, taking another sip of water. “S-something happened on the cr-cruise. S-something bad.”</p><p>Silas nods at that. “Mm-hmm, and what was it?”</p><p>“Pr-promise y-you won’t y-yell?”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>From the pause,  Silas almost expects him to hang up until he hears Green speak, words hiccuped and raspy.</p><p>“I…R-Raticate…he died.”</p><p>Well, shit. He hadn’t really thought it would be that bad. He had thought Green had gotten severe food poisoning from the shrimp or perhaps even simply lost all of his money on some gambling thing.</p><p>He doesn’t really understand why there would be yelling.</p><p>Green continues, “I though h-he could h-handle it, a-and he co-couldn’t.” Another sniffle comes then, gasping. “R-Red…you know R-Red. W-with his Ve-Venusaur?”</p><p>“Yeah?” He’s heard enough of him from both Green and his own superiors.</p><p>“W-well, h-he…h-hurt him real bad last time. P-poisoned him too.” Green takes another sip, breath evening out somewhat more. “There was a big event going on, and I couldn’t get off the ship in time. Got lost too in the corridors and didn’t have any Antidotes on me either. I didn’t think I’d need them on a cruise.” He pauses again, voice wavering. “B-by the time I got to the Center, Raticate was already gone.”</p><p>Silas doesn’t quite know what to say even as Green stops, breath ragged. It isn’t that he hasn’t dealt with deaths before—he had a Butterfree once, short-lived species, and he does work under Proton—but he doesn’t know how to comfort him.</p><p>He is an adult, and Green isn’t. In that, there are expectations and dissimilarities.</p><p>Green, despite his personality and inclinations is still a child, young and unsure.</p><p>“The funeral’s in a few days,” Green says. “It’s at Pokémon Tower in Lavender Town. I…I don’t know what to do. I can’t call Gramps—he’ll call me irresponsible like he always does—and Red’s always really hard to reach.” There’s a pause then followed by another sniffle. “I don’t even know if I want to call him right now. I-I know it’s my fault. I should have been more careful, but…”</p><p>Another choked sob comes, and Silas shifts uncomfortably.</p><p>He couldn’t simply tell him to get another one. It would be cruel to do so, and he remembers how he had felt after Butterfree’s passing. But still, he couldn’t simply remain quiet, not now anyhow. Green is a child after all, and despite all of his own faults, Silas isn’t entirely heartless.</p><p>Thus, he finds himself offering something else.</p><p>“I could come if you want. For the funeral I mean,” he says. He remembers how lonely it had been when he had buried Butterfree. At the time, he hadn’t had his license, and in his mind, his parents would have yelled at him for it. It’s a foolish thought in hindsight, but he had been young. He thinks Green is much the same when it comes to his concerns. “With the Underground Path, it wouldn’t take me long to reach Lavender Town.”</p><p>Green doesn’t reply, and Silas almost rescinds his offer—perhaps it had been too weird?—until he hears the crackle of the phone, static intermingling with a soft voice.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>And that was that, simple unlike everything else.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think Green's age plays a large part in how he would view everything tbh. I personally don't care for popular fanon with Raticate, but it makes for a good show...</p><p>But still, it's a rather common reaction for young children to worry about upsetting their caretakers even if an event wouldn't be met with chastisement (ie. Green's view of Prof. Oak). It's the pre-conceived notions.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Willow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p>
<p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rather short chapter, but this story was originally planned as a snapshot style story after all.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Standing next to Green and garbed in his civilian clothes is a rather awkward affair.</p>
<p>In his jeans and jacket, Silas feels out of place, but it isn’t like he has a more appropriate set of clothes to don. No well-pressed slacks and shined dress shoes or even simply a tie.</p>
<p>He isn’t made of money after all, and he doubts that it would be appropriate to show up in his work clothes. Outside of matters of secrecy, Lavender Town has never taken kindly to Rockets.</p>
<p>Too many dead Pokémon and all.</p>
<p>Even the atmosphere isn’t quite right. There’s the air of sadness certainly, but he feels pinpricks of discomfort, akin to eyes glaring.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t be there, unwelcomed as he is, but he couldn’t exactly back out now. They’re too far along with everything—coffin lowered downward, final rites spoken, and small hand clinging to the sleeve of his jacket, fingers clenching tightly around the dark fabric and sweaty.</p>
<p>He doesn’t say anything naturally. He has nothing to say, nothing besides flimsy condolences—messages standard and more fit for a greeting card rather than as a means to comfort a despondent boy.</p>
<p>Even when the procession finishes, they don’t speak on the way back to Green’s room, a small place located on the second floor of the Pokémon Center. He doesn’t comment on the cleanness of the room either, floors, bed, and table devoid of the mess that he expected.</p>
<p>No empty water bottles, no discarded and used tissues, and not even the slightest hint of dirt or an unmade bed.</p>
<p>Too perfect outside of one or two little details.</p>
<p>Outside of the worn Poké Ball on the desk—sphere snapped entirely in half at the hinge—and the tight hold on his sleeve, he wouldn’t have assumed anything were wrong.</p>
<p>It’s too quiet as well really—he’s rather used to Green’s chatter at this point—but he doesn’t comment on that.</p>
<p>It simply doesn’t feel right to speak.</p>
<p>Instead, he only finds himself sitting on the edge of Green’s bed, small hand having finally released its hold on his sleeve, as the boy drifts off, restlessness soon evening out as exhaustion and sleep take hold.</p>
<p>He hadn’t had much to say or offer.</p>
<p>And thus, he finds himself staying, hands soon moving to pull up the comforter over Green.</p>
<p>It’s the best that he can do really.</p>
<p>He’s never had much to say after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm currently ruminating on whether to do something cow-themed or age swap first time with Piers/Victor...they're both gonna happen eventually, but I'm warming myself up for the major "Dead Dove: Do Not Eat" demon/fantasy AU with them...a lot of "hardcore" kinks and ideas like forced body modification, noncon, Stockholm+Lima, intersex, etc. and it's detailed on my AO3 profile + Social media tbh...it's gonna be a longfic slow burn so so much writing...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Sycamore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p>
<p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This started as a warm-up for me, so yeah, the shortness is intentional. It just so happened that it turned into an actual longfic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It doesn’t quite go back to normal over the coming months. Certainly, the calls resume, but Green doesn’t have the same careless, almost arrogant, edge that he used to.</p>
<p>There’s the cockiness absolutely, but it isn’t quite the same, more subdued and almost forced than anything else.</p>
<p>Though, Silas doesn’t comment on it.</p>
<p>It isn’t his business after all.</p>
<p>And he doesn’t want to comment on it, words upsetting an already precarious dynamic.</p>
<p>Ever since his meeting with Green in the Pokémon Tower, things have been strange, tinged by the slightest bit of oddness.</p>
<p>There aren’t ghosts or strange dreams or anything like that. He’s rather glad for that. He’s never been a big fan of ghosts after all. Most Rockets aren’t.</p>
<p>Instead, it’s in how Green talks to him, days spanning into weeks and weeks turning into months.</p>
<p>Too eager, eagerness barely masked by the strained cockiness, and too oddly intent on meeting once more.</p>
<p>It isn’t something that he had immediately noticed, but he couldn’t quite ignore it. Not when Green asks months later, voice blunt.</p>
<p>“Do you want to go out for food sometime? Next time we meet?” he asks. After a pause, he hastily adds, “I’ll pay of course, and you can choose the place.”</p>
<p>Silas hadn’t declined then. Why would he? It’s free food, and he assumes that it’s some sort of payment for their conversations or perhaps even for some forgotten deed. As strange as it is, that is the sort of person that Green is, always reluctant to take any perceived handouts.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think much of it, but it isn’t like he has much of an opportunity to question it.</p>
<p>Not when Team Rocket disbands a mere month later.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I actually had an entire section that was more "grand" with Silas saving Green during the raid on Silph Co., but for me, it went against one of my preferences. The whole "big event so someone falls in love" thing when I prefer the small, yet no less important , moments. I think it "means" more for Silas to accompany Green to a funeral than for a grand event to cement everything.</p>
<p>That's how I feel anyhow.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Elm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p><p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fairly short, but the sex scene is finally next chapter and it's like 3000+ words so...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It isn’t that he had intentionally ignored Green, but it isn’t like he had much choice considering the abruptness of his unemployment. He hadn’t even been anywhere near headquarters when the notice had gone out. Rather, he had been stationed in Cerulean City on some minor job.</p><p>In the scramble afterwards, he hadn’t had time to call Green. He hadn’t been a major player—he has rather mixed feelings on the general lack of recognition and wanted signs really—but he also hadn’t been some newbie.</p><p>He had been with Team Rocket for years at that point even if he hadn’t climbed up the corporate ladder all too much.</p><p>And even after he had settled down in Pewter City, he had been too busy to call Green—bills piling up on the table alongside general living expenses.</p><p>He’s certainly glad when Green becomes Champion, albeit for a day or so, but he hadn’t had time to call.</p><p>Not until Green had barged into his life unannounced and with a multitude of plans.</p><p>Where to eat, what to do, and and even how to decorate, guest room soon turned into a second home for Green.</p><p>He doesn’t particularly understand the interest, but he hadn’t seen the harm in indulging Green.</p><p>Not when Green pays the bills and does his own share of chores.</p><p>Not until now anyway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Idk what I wanna work on rn...I'm not in the right headspace for Demon AU yet, but I'm thinking about trans!Gloria/trans!Piers/Victor where Gloria and Victor are identical twins and then the "aphrodiasiac drugging with kidnaping, repeated noncon, and stockholm mindbreak into a cockslut" scenario with Piers/Victor...or Male!Marnie/trans!Victor/Piers DP with awkward sibling bonding fic...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Oak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He probably should have been meaner to Green.</p><p>It would certainly save him the trouble of having the kid attempt to woo him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here we come to the close of the most average man I've ever seen...I actually wasn't gonna post this chapter today, but I saw that someone left me two kudos on some other stories so haha, thank them for it...I always like kudos, but I don't get a lot, you know? Oh well...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Green…” Silas begins. “Don’t you think this is a bit forward? Or that I’m too…you know…” He doesn’t want to say it, but Green doesn’t respond, hand still settled on his knee and lips pouting. “…too old for you?”</p><p>“No.” Green shakes his head. “You’re not anywhere near as old as Gramps—he’s ancient—and we’ve been on dates before.”</p><p>At Green’s words, Silas chokes. He’s not quite sure what’s worse, Green’s standard for old age or the fact that they’ve apparently been on dates. He doesn’t remember that at all. Hell, he doesn’t even remember agreeing to date Green.</p><p>“W-when have we’ve been on dates?”</p><p>Last week!” He hadn’t expected Green to yell or for his frown to deepen. “We went to that restaurant you like—the foreign one with the Basculin fish tanks near Apple Road.”</p><p>Silas definitely remembers that. He had worn a regular pair of jeans and a cotton shirt that time. There hadn’t been anything particularly different about the occasion. Nothing outside Green’s state of dress, a fancy dress shirt with cuff links and pressed slacks and perhaps his reaction to a compliment, thin chest having swelled happily and cheeks flushing pink.</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>Stupid of him perhaps, but he had assumed embarrassment. He remembers being Green’s age after all. He hadn’t cared for compliments then, especially ones calling him <em>cute</em> or teasingly, <em>spiffy</em> as he had with Green. Nowadays, he’s lucky enough to be called passable. He isn’t ugly but the charm of childhood had worn off.</p><p>No round cheeks and round eyes to fall back on.</p><p>But still, Green had looked spiffy with his little bowtie, like a little gentleman, but it had been a comment made halfway in jest and halfway in seriousness. He remembers the blush followed by the exaggerated sputtering, calls of <em>I’m handsome, not cute</em>.</p><p>The bed shifts as Green leans closer. “The Ferris wheel at the carnival? Fuchsia Beach? The time we went to Cerulean Cape, the <em>dating spot</em>?”</p><p>Silas winces at that. He remembers all of those vividly—Green’s well-groom appearance, collar folded downward rather than popped as it normally would be, the offers to pay for their meals, and even the scent of his cologne, overly heavy and obviously inexpertly applied.</p><p>He even remembers how Green had asked to try some of his ice cream at Cerulean Cape, an occasion he had attributed to frugality rather than romantic interest.</p><p>Archer had been right. He is stupidly dimwitted.</p><p>“I thought you wanted to look at the birds and visit Bill,” Silas replies weakly. Alongside its status as a popular spot for couples, Cerulean Cape is known as a spot for birdwatchers, and Green had bought a pair of binoculars too.</p><p>“The beach?”</p><p>“Thought you wanted company since your friends were busy that day.”</p><p>With each question and its accompanying answer, Green’s frown deepens, and Silas almost apologizes until he feels a weight shift onto his lap, movement quick and accompanied by the creak of the bed springs.</p><p>He doesn’t expect the weight against his lips, kiss sloppy, the small hands now grabbing at the front of his shirt or even the tears he sees when Green finally draws away, moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes.</p><p>“Do you even like me?”</p><p>I do but…” Silas doesn’t push him off. As easy as it would be with their difference in size and weight, he doesn’t want to hurt Green’s feelings any further. “…you’re kind of young.”</p><p>“So?” He feels a light tug on his shirt. “I’m a quick learner.”</p><p>It’s a vague sort of statement that he doesn’t really understand.</p><p>Not until he feels a hand slide down to his belt, fingers slipping slightly into the waistband, and a body push against his side, groin grinding clumsily against his clothed side.</p><p>He couldn’t quite help the way his breath hitches or how his body reacts, cock swelling because of the contact. He hadn’t meant it that way—he simply hadn’t wanted to hurt Green’s feelings—but he doesn’t quite want to stop it either.</p><p>He hasn’t been touched like this in a long time.</p><p>It’s only when Green’s mouth presses against his again, wet tongue sliding along the chapped skin, that he reacts, sensation jarring him from his stupor. Green’s hand has already begun to undo his belt, buckle clinking loudly.</p><p>“T-that isn’t the problem, Green,” Silas says as his hand wraps around Green’s wrist, gentle yet firm. “Just…I’m thirty-two, and you’re like twelve. That’s a pretty big gap.”</p><p>Green shakes his head, and Silas’s breath hitches again as he feels Green’s other hand slide downward to rub at his bulge, slender fingers stroking. He feels Green’s tongue lick at the corner of his lips before sliding wetly downward to his chin and lifting.</p><p>That’s not <em>super</em> old.” Silas isn’t sure if it’s an attempt to convince him or Green himself. “It’ll be fine. I watched a lot of porn before this.” After a moment of pause, “Gramps and my sis won’t know. I was really careful about getting DVDs, and I won’t tell them. I won’t tell Red either.”</p><p>When Silas opens his mouth to reply, a pair of lips once again press against his, tongue sloppily yet eagerly pushing inward to poke against his own tongue and slide against teeth and the warm recesses of his mouth. A noise leaves him as he feels Green’s hand slip into his pants to probe at the front of his boxers, fingertips pressing roughly against the wet stain and thin, cheap cotton as the only thing separating them from his cock.</p><p>He should push Green away, but he doesn’t.</p><p>It’s too warm, too <em>different</em> from what he’s used to.</p><p>He hasn’t had anyone touch him like that in a long time.</p><p>When Green separates, spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth, he’s panting, thin chest heaving underneath the dark fabric of his shirt. He—they—haven’t done much, and Silas himself hasn’t moved, but Green’s excitement is obvious, small body still rubbing against his side and palm grinding against his cock.</p><p>Furthermore, he can feel Green’s own erection pressing against his skin, cock similarly straining against his clothes.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Green says, words soon repeating once more. His hand moves to the waistband of Silas’s boxers, fingers slipping downward and slowly stroking at the sweaty skin and pubic hair. “It’s fine. You’re fine with this, right?”</p><p>Green doesn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he presses a kiss against Silas’s chin before his tongue slides downward to the side of his neck, teeth nipping at the skin.</p><p>Whether because of inexperience or because of intent, it’s too rough, painful, and Silas finds a noise leaving him. Though, Green doesn’t apologize. He only continues his actions, more of a bite now than a nip and hand finally slipping fully into his boxers, calloused palm pressing against the leaking head of his cock.</p><p>At his actions, Silas shudders, panting. It isn’t especially good—unlike with Pokémon battling, Green isn’t a natural at foreplay or sex—but it isn’t horrifically terrible either. Much like Green’s vocabulary and his stories, what he lacked in experience, he made up for with enthusiasm.</p><p>At the very least, it’s warm, hand stroking at his cock, thin fingers sliding at the veins and curling pubic hair, and soon joined by Green’s other hand. Alongside the rutting against his waist, the mouth sucking on his neck, and the tightness of his clothes, everything’s pleasant, overly so.</p><p>It’s rather hard to mess up something like this after all.</p><p>Though, when Silas thrusts, movement involuntary and caused by a particularly rough stroke against his cock, nails having accidentally scraped at a sensitive vein, Green stops, hands stilling and mouth lifting, skin now blemished with a small, near-circular, purpling mark.</p><p>Perhaps he should be relieved when he feels Green shift, hands withdrawing from the soaked confines and weight leaving his lap and bed, but he isn’t.</p><p>He couldn’t be, not with Green now kneeling in front of him as his hands soon return to his jeans, zipper pulled down with a loud squeal alongside the denim. In the dim light of his bedroom and with him kneeling as he is, Green looks smaller—less brash and more hesitant—than he normally he is. There’s a slight tremble, a combination of both nerves and arousal.</p><p>Granted, the situation probably contributes to that too.</p><p>Green’s breath is warm as his mouth hovers over his clothed cock, every inhale and exhale a source of agitation and chapped lips occasionally brushing against the sizable bulge.</p><p>“Is this fine?” Silas shivers as Green’s tongue flicks out, tip licking at the soaked cotton.</p><p>He doesn’t reply at first—how was one supposed to in a situation such as this?—and Green repeats himself, words and tongue unbearably warm.</p><p>“Is this fine?” Green asks again. His words, a third repetition, are accompanied by his hands, fingers slipping once more into and pass the waistband of his boxers to caress at the sweaty skin. “Can you tell me? Please?”</p><p>Soft and warm, Green’s ministrations draw another noise from him. He doesn’t want to reply, but he finds the words falling from his lips anyway—easier to agree rather than to decline.</p><p>“Y-yeah. It’s fine.”</p><p>At his words, fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and tug downward, motion clumsy, uneven, and cotton catching briefly on his cock.</p><p>Green’s eyes widen slightly when the cotton slips fully downward—there’s a rather large difference between an offer and actually going through with it—but his surprise soon disappears, mouth pressing against the head and tongue dipping into the slit.</p><p>By the way Green’s nose scrunches, the taste isn’t all too great, but Silas isn’t surprised. Despite his somewhat improved living conditions and larger financial budget, all courtesy of Green, his diet still isn’t the best. Old dietary habits are hard too break, especially after years of budgeting and his own personal inclinations.</p><p>Nonetheless, Green doesn’t stop. Instead, his movements only hasten, enthusiasm mixing with a familiar stubbornness.</p><p>As his tongue wetly rolls around the pink head, Green’s hand slides up and down the shaft, carefully stroking the shaft with his fingers, each movement painfully slow as if to memorize the placement of the veins and sweat. With each movement, Green’s hair brushes against his thighs, soft strands tickling the hot, sweaty skin.</p><p>It’s too soft, warm in a way that it shouldn’t be.</p><p>When Silas’s hands meet Green’s hair—he should push him away, truly push him away, but he doesn’t, fingers instead tightening—Green only leans forward Into his touch, teeth grazing against sensitive flesh and drawing a choked moan.</p><p>He shouldn’t enjoy everything as much as he should—the warmth, the sticky wetness, and especially the way Green’s head bobs, tongue inexpertly licking at the head and shaft—but it’s not something that he could stop.</p><p>Especially when Green’s mouth wraps around the head, mouth too small and size causing his eyes to tear up. Despite his discomfort, however, Green doesn’t release his hold, fingers sliding further downward to play with his balls and lightly pull at the curling hair. His nails scrape lightly against the skin, sensations eliciting another shiver from Silas.</p><p>Green’s cheeks are flushed pink, sweat beading on his brow and eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as his mouth pushes further downward. A small, warm, tongue presses against the underside of his cock, every tiny movement agitating him further.</p><p>Though, despite his own efforts, Green couldn’t quite swallow everything, length too large and mouth too small. At most, only roughly half could fit in his mouth, hard, slightly twitching tip pressing uncomfortably against the back of his throat and dripping pre-cum.</p><p>He doesn’t mind, however. Instead, his grip only tightens as Green begins to move in earnest, teeth unintentionally grazing against his length as his head bobs and his hands move, nails tracing along the skin, stroking at the slick shaft, and occasionally moving to trail along his inner thighs. Anywhere his hands could reach bare skin, his hands moved, fingertips gliding upon and memorizing the skin.</p><p>When Green’s teeth graze at a particularly sensitive vein, Silas inadvertently thrusts, grip jerking Green’s head forward further onto his cock and drawing a muffled, high-pitched moan from him.</p><p>Silas couldn’t quite help the way his breath hitches, breath whistling as it leaves his lips. Outside of his breathing and the occasional low whimper, Green hasn’t made much noise so far, relative quietness uncharacteristic.</p><p>As a result, he finds himself thrusting again, movement gentler than the previous one yet drawing an equally loud moan. Alongside the moan, Green’s fingers curl, nails scraping once more at the sensitive skin, and faint pain causing another thrust, movement met by the back of Green’s throat.</p><p>Their rhythm isn’t particularly even—they’re both too awkward for that, pace either too quick or too slow—but it’s pleasurable at the very least. Green doesn’t complain, and neither does he.</p><p>With each thrust, the bed creaks, metal springs whining almost as much as Green himself, and with each noise and brush of skin—calloused palm pressing against his cock—he feels himself nearing closer to his climax, stomach tightening in a familiar feeling.</p><p>However, Green doesn’t withdraw even as his grip loosens, hands nudging gently at his head in an attempt to push him away. Instead, his actions only cause Green to hurry, grip tightening around his cock and stroking faster as he noisily, sloppily sucks, length still taken in his mouth.</p><p>It is only when he cums, fluid squirting into his mouth and down a warm throat, that Green stops, withdrawing with a cough. White cum dots his cheeks and drips down his chin.</p><p>He almost wants to apologize, but Green moves before he can, small body soon hoisting itself back onto his lap and grindingly lightly downward against his cock, indifferent to the cum and sweat.</p><p>Green quickly presses another kiss against his mouth, and Silas winces at the taste, bitter with a hint of saltiness, before shifting again, lifting himself up slightly to undo his belt buckle and pull down his pants, erection obvious even underneath the layers of fabric.</p><p>Silas doesn’t quite know what to expect—a request for a  handjob perhaps?—not until Green pulls out a familiar package from the back-pocket of his jeans.</p><p>“Where did you get that?” Silas blurts out. Rather stupid of him considering their current situation, but he couldn’t help himself.</p><p>He doubts that any store would sell personal lube to a little boy. No matter how well-known, admired, or rich. Despite his recent (and relatively minuscule) growth spurt, Green still has a baby face, cheeks too chubby to be mistaken for a man’s and eyes still too round, and a high voice. Even for a blind cashier, a fake license wouldn’t work.</p><p>Unlike his prowess with battling, Green is a late-bloomer when it comes to puberty.</p><p>Green shifts, denim rubbing teasingly against the head of erect cock. “I picked it up from a place that I was staying at—compliments of the hotel.” Another shift, and the denim slips further down, revealing bare skin and the white of his briefs. “It’s small, but it should be enough, right? I couldn’t get anything else without Gramps or my sis figuring out, and no one will sell to me.”</p><p>Enough for what? Silas doesn’t have to ask before Green’s free hand moves to his own briefs, fingers hooking into the waistband and pulling downward. The motion is uneven rather than smooth, requiring a few tugs to achieve.</p><p>Green’s cock, much like his frame and unlike Silas’s own cock, is small and nearly hairless, pale flesh erect and throbbing slightly.</p><p>Though, he doesn’t have much time to ponder that as he hears the crinkle of the pink satchet, slender fingers fumbling to open it, and feels Green’s ass, now bare, slide against his cock, opening rubbing teasingly along the length of his shaft.</p><p>“Let me do it,” Silas offers, holding out his hand. He doesn’t want Green to hurt himself and his frustration is obvious anyway.</p><p>Thankfully, Green doesn’t argue. He only passes the packet to Silas.</p><p>With a quick motion, Silas rips the packet open, cool fluid seeping onto his palm and fingers. In his haste, Green had missed the slight indent in the foil.</p><p>Lube dripping from his palm and fingers and empty foil discarded somewhere onto the bed, it’s a bit awkward, but Silas manages, lips muttering a quick command.</p><p>“Lean forward,” he says as his other hand moves to the small of Green’s back, gently urging him forward. Wet fingers soon probe at the Green’s entrance, every movement and touch drawing gasps and whimpers.</p><p>Hands clenching at the front of his shirt, Green almost thrusts back onto Silas’s fingers, motion stopped by the hand resting on his back.</p><p>He shouldn’t be doing this, but it isn’t like he could stop, not with how far along they are.</p><p>When the first finger presses inward, index entering with a wet <em>pop</em>, Green squirms, panting as his ass clenches around the digit.</p><p>Silas’s finger rubs against the warm walls as a second digit strokes at Green’s clenching entrance. “Relax a bit. It’ll be easier that way.”</p><p>Breath ragged and body trembling, Green nods as his grip tightens on Silas’s shirt. Though, his ass doesn’t unclench.</p><p>“It’ll be fine, Green,” Silas reassures again as a second finger probes against his hole. “Just relax.”</p><p>Another nod comes, and thankfully, he does loosen up this time, breathing heavy and dripping cock brushing against his stomach with each shift. Pushing in a second digit, he soon moves his fingers, spreading Green further and coating his insides. With each movement, cool lube drips from his palm and fingers onto Green’s trembling ass and thighs.</p><p>As his fingers delve deeper, Silas feels sweaty hair tickle his chin before a pair of lips shakily press against the underside of his chin, Green having tilted his head back and contact a request for a more personal sort of kiss—a request that’s soon readily fulfilled.</p><p>Unlike his earlier kiss, there’s a bit more finesse—as Green had said, he is a quick learner—but it isn’t by much.</p><p>Too much teeth and too wet, minty saliva exciting his tastebuds.</p><p>He isn’t a masochist. He’s never been particularly fond of biters or teeth clacking together, but he couldn’t blame Green for it, not with his age and inexperience.</p><p>When his fingers press against Green’s prostate, Green jerks, voice whining and ass rubbing against his cock once more. A small squirt of pre-cum leaves Green’s cock and stains their shirts further, sensation causing Silas’s own cock to twitch, slit leaking just as heavily as Green’s.</p><p>Though, despite the sensations, Green doesn’t separate from their kiss. His grip only tightens, knuckles white, ass pushing back against his fingers in the slightest of motions. With their current position, Green couldn’t thrust as much as he wants, not without breaking their kiss.</p><p>However, when his hand leaves, fingers trailing from his back to wrap around his cock, firm length fitting easily in his palm, Silas feels the grip on his chest on his chest loosen.</p><p>Though, they don’t leave. Instead, Silas feels a slight push, urging him to lie down.</p><p>It is only then that Green withdraws from their kiss, hands nudging him downward.</p><p>“Lie down,” he says before a squeak escapes his mouth, a consequence of the fingers still stroking at his prostate.</p><p>Green’s hands press against his chest, another light nudge, before Silas complies, fingers leaving his ass with another wet <em>pop</em> alongside the ones on his cock.</p><p>As they are—he on his back, fingers resting against dirty sheets, and with Green straddling him—he isn’t quite sure of what to expect.</p><p>It isn’t the sex—he isn’t that dull-witted—but rather, he doesn’t know who will act first.</p><p>Green, despite his earlier insistence, is rather nervous, body shaking as a result of both arousal and exhaustion and eyes flickering around the room and to his face.</p><p>Silas almost speaks then, but before he can, Green interrupts, body still shaking.</p><p>“It’s fine,” he says. “I can do it.”</p><p>Silas feels Green shift and a small hand wrap around his cock, tip soon guided to and meeting the entrance of Green’s ass.</p><p>Though, outside of that, Green doesn’t move, eyes still flickering to his face and to the room itself.</p><p>It’s rather awkward to stay as they are, and Silas almost comments until Green moves, motion sudden and accompanied by a high whine and wet squelch as he forces himself down onto a rigid cock.</p><p>“I-it’s f-fine,” he repeats, and Silas groans as he feels Green’s ass clench around his cock—tight, warm, and wet. “I-it’s fine.”</p><p>Whether it’s an attempt to reassure him or Green’s own personal mantra made in an attempt to bear the pain, Silas isn’t quite sure, and he doesn’t ask. Knowing Green, he wouldn’t get an honest answer anyway..</p><p>“Relax,” Silas says as his hands move to rest lightly on Green’s hips. “It’ll be easier that way, less painful.”</p><p>Green doesn’t reply. He only nods, uneven and panting.</p><p>After a few moments, bed creaking slightly underneath them, Green raises himself, tip barely sheathed, before thrusting down with a pained gasp.</p><p>Much like with the blowjob, their pace isn’t especially even. Green’s too tight and inexperienced for that, walls clenching around his cock with each thrust. Though, unlike before, Green’s louder, noise an assortment of whimpers, moans, gasps, and the occasional call of his name, stuttered.</p><p>With each thrust, he feels Green loosen, cock stretching his ass. It isn’t enough for it to become unpleasurable—Green’s still too tight but for that—but it’s enough for Green’s bouncing to increase in intensity, pain having almost entirely dissipated because of acclimation.</p><p>Another particularly rough thrust, back rising slightly off the mattress, before his hand moves to grasp at Green’s cock, fingers jerking him off with each bounce and readily welcomed by a loud <em>please</em>. His other hand tightens, fingers digging into Green’s hip. It isn’t enough to mar the skin, but at the pressure, Green’s pace quickens again, eager.</p><p>It isn’t especially coordinated or experienced, movements a bit haphazard, but it doesn’t quite matter. He hasn’t been touched like this in a long time and to his body, it doesn’t quite matter if his partner is experienced and around his own age or a beginner and entirely—wholly and unethically so—too young.</p><p>It’s a warm body, a willing partner, all the same.</p><p>And as unwilling as he is to admit it out loud, there’s a certain appeal to Green as he is now—cocky persona unraveled and begging, small hands clenching at the hem of his shirt and bouncing enthusiastically, noises squelching as skin meets skin and interspersed both of their moans and Green’s pleas for him to hurry up.</p><p>When his cock meets Green’s prostate, Green clenches again, orgasm coming in small squirts. Though, he doesn’t stop his motion. Instead, they only quicken, ass still clenching around his cock in an attempt to milk it.</p><p>Silas doesn’t stop his movements either, cock still thrusting and hand still stroking at the small length in his hand, fingertips rubbing at the squirting slit, around the head, and along the length before sliding down to massage the balls. With each uneven thrust, he repeats his actions.</p><p>Thrusting up once more, cock once again grinding against Green’s prostate, Silas finally cums, fluid staining Green’s insides, overflowing from his still clenching hole, and drawing another orgasm from Green, toes curling.</p><p>When they finish, Green first and followed by Silas moments later, it’s messy—bedsheets soaked with sweat and cum and both of them panting. Though, despite the mess, Green doesn’t leave, cock still mostly inside as he leans forward to press his hand against Silas’s chest.</p><p>“Turn over onto your side,” Green says, and Silas complies, body shifting carefully. He doesn’t really have the energy to question Green, not after everything so far.</p><p>It’s a rather unwieldy affair—he’s still sheathed inside Green after all—but they manage after a few minutes of positioning, Green soon snuggling closer to his chest and with a cock still sheathed inside of him. At the very least, Green’s small stature is useful, lightness making everything easier.</p><p>Soon after, Silas finds himself pulling the blanket over them, up to mid-chest.</p><p>Though, the silence is rather awkward. Even with Green dozing off as he is, Silas finds himself speaking, both as a way to momentarily fill the silence and for the act itself. He doesn’t quite want everything to end as it does.</p><p>“I-don’t tell your relatives.”</p><p>Awkward and embarrassing, but Green doesn’t ignore him.</p><p>He only yawns before snuggling closer and replying.</p><p>“I told you already. I won’t,” he replies with a yawn. “Just…do you want to go to dinner again tomorrow? It’s my turn to pick, and I wanna go to that new Galarian restaurant in Saffron—the one two streets over from the Poké Mart.”</p><p>It’s a particularly anticlimactic  reply, but perhaps he shouldn’t expect anything else from Green.</p><p>He’s always been one to plan ahead, always sure of his own choices and always keen on getting his own way.</p><p>Tonight’s proof enough of that.</p><p>Whatever the case, Silas doesn’t push it any further. He only says a simple <em>goodnight</em>, word met with a similar phrase, and pulls Green closer.</p><p>He could figure out everything in the morning, gather his thought and words together better in the morning.</p><p>He’s never been good at speaking, and this time had been no different.</p><p>That has always been more of Green’s sort of thing.</p><p>Green’s always been chatty after all.</p><p>A chatterbox.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was a warm-up story tbh. I just wanted Green to bone a Team Rocket Grunt. Maybe I'll do a small continuation where older!Green fucks Silas in Alola and that one where Green brings him to family dinner...</p><p>I'm currently doing trans!Gloria/trans!Piers/Victor story because I gotta do another 3P fic since it's been a while, and I also want to raise the number of their stories...I know the Piers/Gloria tag went down by one today...</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For whatever reason, Red/Green is my NOTP/neutral ship where I don't mind it, but I don't love it. I've just usually never liked the rival/protagonist ships in Pokemon outside of maybe Calem/Serena (though I prefer Calem/AZ and Serena/Diantha by a lot, especially the former) and Ash/Paul from the anime (actually contributed a story for the zine that was published last year!). Wanted to do something goofy and lighthearted with this as well as a break from my normal fare, so it’s not as dark as it was originally going to be.</p>
<p>And then I got really attached to the pairing tbh...</p>
<p>And I wanted to Green to be a sugar daddy essentially to a 32-year-old man. I didn't have any special considerations for what Silas looks like. He's just the standard pink-haired male Grunt from HGSS (with the assumption that everyone else has different appearances of course considering the limitations of the game). </p>
<p>I've also been offline because I was sick...not COVID thankfully (which dates this story tbh), but it was the common cold...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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